


After the Fight

by OccasionallyCreative



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6646249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyCreative/pseuds/OccasionallyCreative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After meeting again on Jakku, Kylo Ren and Rey end up trapped together in the AT-AT she once called home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Reylo smut, written during a coach trip to Cambridge. I have no shame. Set some time post-TFA. Slight plot, mostly porn.

“Would you hate me?” he whispers, his gloved fingers spreading over her stomach, holding her. She sucks in a breath. The question is a breath in her ear, its warmth ghosting over her neck, fading far too soon. Stormtroopers pass the AT-AT with blasters ready. They both shrink back into the shadows.

Nights on Jakku, in the past, have been more than simply quiet. They’ve been still things, coming suddenly, the cold as stifling as the heat. Sometimes, when the cold is too much to bear and there are no stars, no island in her dream, she’s slid her hand down between her thighs, touched herself at her wet centre. Partly out of a burgeoning curiosity, something biological that she couldn’t battle. Mostly out of a loneliness that aches, still. (Some people are born to be lonely. Sometimes she wonders if she’s one of them, if he’s one of them.)

“I already do,” she whispers, eyes fixed on the Stormtroopers searching the outside.

Rey cannot stop feeling his fingers on her. For a moment, she fears his touch, if it remains, will seep through cotton and burn her skin. An impossible notion but the idea of being marked, in any way, makes her angry. Enrages her. She has craved touch, welcomes his, but she has waited for so many years. Been failed so many times by every day spent in the belly of rotten machines, hollowed out by scavengers before her, only to go home and dream of the ocean instead of a family that will never come. Being owned by anything now sends that rage searing through her.

His head turns, full lips tracing over her cheek. She’s no longer a girl who smells of heat and work. She is of the ocean. He smells bitter, of ochre, of villages he’s ordered burned to find her. (The lightsaber he claims his is heavy at her side, but she’s damned if she ever lets it go.)

“Are you saying no?”

She leaves it a second, feeling his hand hold her stomach, the other at her shoulder. Her eyes flick towards the Stormtroopers. It can only have been a few seconds, this time they’ve been caught in the shadows, but it has felt like eternity. Everything slows down in this place, in Jakku.

“No.”

He sucks in a breath, shallow, short. Realisation comes to her, clear and sharp through the Force. _Nervous_. His hand at her shoulder remains as his hand at her stomach clenches into a fist, snatching at the material of her shirt. He spreads his fingers again, leather moving against cotton, creating patterns she can’t determine. The anxiety she felt fades away. Her body warms in the cold Jakku night, breath hitching. Ren reaches the line of her trousers. He draws his thumb softly over the material. Her skin prickles, anticipating and knowing Stormtroopers are outside, conversing in clipped tones. Phasma is mentioned. Kylo Ren is named.

He must know her anxiety, must feel it flowing from her, because as she’s watching a Stormtrooper step closer to the AT-AT, he breaches the line, sinks a finger into her folds, stroking gently at her clit.

Rey breathes, the sound hitching. “ _Kriff_.”

Ren chuckles as his hand on her shoulder comes to hold her chin. Ren turns her face until she can only see (focus on) is the shade of his eyes, darkened in shadow. He frowns, something possessive in the way his brow creases and his mouth opens, a command on his lips. He continues his ministrations all the while, filling her with his fingers.

“Look at me,” he says, as if she’s one of those damn Stormtroopers, conditioned to obey his every word. She wrenches her chin from his hold, squeezing her eyes shut.

He goes deeper in retaliation, swiping his thumb over her clit. She hitches a breath, swallowing a curse, a moan, at the change. The petulant nature of it all makes her remember the times she cried harder for her family when Plutt told her they were never coming back. She hates being owned but God she wants to be touched; she wants to be desired. How, she doesn’t care. She wants to be _enough_.

Ren slows again. Every touch he bestows upon her now is soft, knowingly slow, creating a new kind of ache deep in the pit of her stomach that makes her tip her head back against his chest, makes her arch her hips in tandem to his touch. She feels his free hand brush over the line of her jaw, fingertips slightly curving. She freezes. He thinks better of it. Drawing back, he sinks his fingers into her hair, clutching tightly.

“You’re like me, scavenger,” he tells her, emphasis on the last word. There’s a lick of pride there too, along with hatred. She understands completely, but all she wants is him to fill her, to get rid of this ache he’s created. She wants to spiral into bliss and forget that it’s him who makes her feel this way.

Her hand reaches back, disappearing into his hair. He nips at her lobe, kisses her just behind her ear, murmuring, “Just can’t stop it, can you? Can’t stop wanting.”

Bliss builds, overtaking ache. She can feel him, his hardness, against her as she grinds against his fingers, taking more. It’s always Ren, always the scavenger. Never Kylo, never Rey. That would make what they do seamless with their reality. The Dark and the Light. Kisses, moments like these, exchanged between them in shadows and places others will never find are grey.

She comes with a throaty groan, something he takes with a kiss, bending his head as she tilts her chin. His hand wraps around her neck, the touch gentle, barely there. He moves his hand as they kiss, drawing the lines of her collarbone with his fingertips.

She opens her eyes as he pulls away. He stares at her for a moment, eyes thoughtful.

“Nothing here,” a Stormtrooper says from outside. “Move on.”

Rey swallows a smile as she pulls away from him. Ren steps around her until he’s square in front of her. Hands either side of her head, he stares at her for a moment, eyes thoughtful. The sounds of Stormtroopers marching grows ever distant. Soon, they begin to hear nothing more than the sounds of Jakku at night. Other scavengers heading out at night to try and get the best scraps before anyone else. Foreign languages harshly exchanged between creatures meeting. Desert winds.

Ren drops to his knees, hands already at the line of her trousers. He pulls them down with trademark impatience, licking and sucking her clit, fucking her with his tongue, getting her off without hesitation. (She spreads herself for him without question, rocks against his mouth with abandon.) The climax he brings her to is savage, something she doesn’t bite back on. 

He’s oddly blank when he stands, wiping at his mouth. It doesn’t take her long to realise.

She swallows, backing against the wall of the AT-AT. “Kylo,” she whispers, a confirmation of her mistake.

Already leaving, he stops. Turns his head to look at her, his mouth opening. Her name forms a shape on his lips. But he puts on his mask and ducks down, crawling out of the AT-AT.

* * *

She wanders around the place she used to call home. It feels so long since she was last here, eating scraps and licking plates, three buns in her hair to remind her family of who she was when they came back. Her hair flows free now, the buns saved for when she's training with Master Luke in one of the Resistance's bunkers, the hopeful eye of General Organa on her.

The first thing she grabs is the doll from its shelf. She clutches it tight to her chest. She can’t even remember why she made it, but she finds herself smiling. She bends her head to take in its scent. It still smells like rain, the memory of the one storm that fell on Jakku when she was a little girl, still unused to scavenging. She shoves the doll into her jacket pocket and climbs out of the AT-AT. Holding her lightsaber in one hand, she runs up the incline of a dune. Down in a steep valley, she finds the Falcon waiting.

Against her training, against her instinct, she looks back. In the distance, she sees white figures marching back towards Nima Outpost. A black figure joins them, cape flapping out behind him. She swallows, shivering to forget his touch.

The memory of Kylo Ren remains with her all the way back to D’Qar.


End file.
